Oldal 269 [269]
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clue by which his friends or relatives
could be traced—the child was taken by
some wretched cottagers, who reared it
as their own.”
* Go on,” said Mr. Brownlow, signing
to Mrs. Maylie to approach, “ go on."
cc You couldn’t find the spot to which
these people had repaired,” said Monks;
“but where friendship fails, hatred will
often force a way. My mother found it,
after a year of cunning search—ay, and
found the child.”
cc She took it, did she?"
s No. The people were poor, and be¬
gan to sicken—at least the man did—of
their fine humanity, so she left it with
them, giving them a small present of mo¬
ney, which would not last long, and pro¬
mising more, which she never meant to
send. She didn’t quite rely, however,
on their discontent and poverty for the
child’s unhappiness, but told the history
of the sister’s shame (with such altera¬
tions as suited her), bade them take good
blood, and told them she was illegitimate,
and sure to go wrong one time or other.
The circumstances countenanced all this;
the people believed it, and there the child
dragged on an existence miserable enough
to satisfy us, until a widow, residing then
at Chester, saw the girl by chance—pitied
her, and took her home. ‘There was some
all our efforts, she remained there and
was happy; I lost sight of her two or
three years ago, and saw her no more un¬
til a few months back.”
“ Do you see her now?"
“ Yes, leaning on your arm.”
* But not the less my niece,” cried
Mrs. Maylie, folding the faimting girl in
her arms; “not the less my dearest child.
I wouldn’t lose her now for all the trea¬
sures of the world—my sweet companion
—my own dear girl.”
“The only friend I ever had,” cried
Rose, clinging to her; “ the kindest, best
of friends. My heart will burst—I can¬
not, cannot bear all this.”
6 You have borne more, and been,
through all, the best and gentlest crea¬
ture that ever shed happiness on every
one she knew,” said Mrs. Maylie, em¬
bracing her tenderly. ‘Come, come, my
love, remember who this is who waits to
clasp you in his arms. Poor child! see
here—look, look, my dear.”
“ Not aunt,” cried Oliver, throwing his
arms about her neck; 5 171] never call her
aunt—sister, my own dear sister, that
something taught my heart to love so
18
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dearly from the first. Rose, dear, darling
Let the tears which fell, and the broken
words which were exchanged, in the long
close embrace between the oe be
sacred. A father, sister, mother
were gained and lost m that one moment.
Joy and grief were mingled in the cup,
but there were no bitter tears, for even
grief itself arose so softened, and clothed .
in such sweet and tender recollections,
that it became a solemn pleasure and lost
all character of pain.
They were a long, long time alone. A
soft tap at the door at length announced
that some one was without. Oliver
opened it, glided away, and gave place to
Harry Maylie.
6 [ know it all,” he said, taking a seat
beside the lovely girl. “ Dear e, I
know it all.” .
“T am not here by accident,” he added, ©
after a lengthened silence, “nor have I
heard all this to-night, for I knew it yes¬
terday —only yesterday. Do you guess
that I have come here to remind you of a
promise ?”’
“Stay,” said Rose. “You do know
all?’
s All. You gave me leave at any time
within a year to renew the subject of our
last discourse.”
“T did.”
s Not to press you to alter your deter¬
mination,” pursued the young man, “ but
to hear you reject it if you would. I was
to lay whatever of station or fortune |
might possess at your feet; and if you
still adhered to your former determina¬
tion, I pledged myself by no word or act
to seek to change it.”
“The same reasons which influenced
me then, will influence me now,” said
Rose firmly. “If I ever owed a strict
and rigid duty to her whose goodness
saved me from a life of indigence and
suffering, when should I ever feel it as I
do to-night? It isa struggle,” said Rose,
“but one I am proud to make; it is a
pang, but one my heart shall bear.”
a The disclosure of to-night,” Harry
gan.
“The disclosure of to-night,” replied
Rose softly, § leaves me in the same posi¬
tion with reference to you, as that in
which I stood before.”
“You harden your heart against me,
Rose,” urged her lover.
“Oh thirty, Harry,” said the youn
lady, bursting into tears. "1 wish]
could, and spare myself this pain."
“Then why inflict it on yonrselft’'